


In This House

by zeesmuse



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: F/M, Jealous Alucard (Castlevania)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeesmuse/pseuds/zeesmuse
Summary: Somewhere in Season 2, Trevor and Sypha became a couple. While S3 was treating them like an old, married couple, I think there was at least some heat at the beginning. This is simply my take.
Relationships: Trevor Belmont & Sypha Belnades
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	In This House

**__**

In This House

**  
__  
**

A Castlevania Fanfic

**  
_Title:_  
** In This House  
 **  
_Author:_  
** ZeesMuse  
 **  
_Beta:_  
** WhatKatyDid  
 **  
_Fandom:_  
** Castlevania  
 **  
_Genre:_  
** Het  
 **  
_Characters:_  
** Trevor and Sypha  
 **  
_Rating:_  
** NC17  
 **  
_Title and Footer_  
** – The Mystics Dream by Loreena McKinnitt.  
 **  
_Disclaimer_  
** : I own none of it! Not even the ratty blanket!  
 **  
_Timeline:_  
** 14th century Transylvania. Maybe 13th century. I'm really guessing here.

_****_

Darkness lays her crimson cloak 

For the first time in how many years, Trevor wished he had taken a bath in the last week... or month.

He blamed The House. 

For many years, he'd suppressed the memory of The House. He suppressed the memory of the servants, his family. For a time, their memories haunted him. They'd stood fast when the lunatics from The Church came, naming them the very monsters the family had protected the country from! They stood fast when The Church excommunicated them, but then they stirred the town up, and they came with their torches and pitchforks. His grandfather, Serrgio Belmont stood on the steps in the front of the house, ready to speak reason with the Mayor. The family had supped with these men, were friends with them. They stoned his grandfather, on his own steps, before rushing the home, screaming death to the Belmonts. 

And at that point, the family, the servants, scattered. Scattered into the woods and the wind. Trevor remembered running through the house, pushed along by his father and mother. 

_Grab the weapons! Grab as many as you can carry._

He did. He grabbed a whip, a dagger, two daggers, a sword, a goatskin flask. There was a shirt, a cloak in the laundry as he passed through. He supposed he passed through the laundry; they were in his hands along with the weapons. He reached the woods and turned around. 

To see his father and mother taken down to the ground by the mob. He locked eyes with his mother and he saw her mouth move.

_Run!  
_  
He didn't stay to watch what happened. He simply heard the screaming and felt the terror as he ran into the woods. 

There was a path he was familiar with and he took it. It led to Rosa's farm – Rosa with the sweet lips and budding body. A body that laid naked beneath his own unclothed one not three nights previously. They pledged their love in the aftermath. Promises made.

How quickly those promises were broken. He slid into the barn, hoping she was feeding late. She was. 

“Rosa? Help me-”

The girl turned and those beautiful lips that said such sweet, loving things to him days before, opened into an ugly, black cavern. 

**“BELMONT! DEMON-WORSHIPER! BELMONT! GET AWAY FROM ME!”**

He turned and ran back into the woods and didn't stop until his wind gave out. Twigs snapped and scratched his arms and face as he fled the demon in the shape of a girl he

_used to_

love. He ran until he couldn't run anymore. He ran until he was far from home, he couldn't smell the fires, couldn't hear the screaming, couldn't hear the glass breaking, could only imagine what was happening to his family, the servants, his mother and father. The memory of his grandfather, his beloved, unbreakable, unbeatable, grandfather, collapsing under rocks! A man who had destroyed demons, vampires, dark beasts, bested by an insane cleric, an enraged crowd. He stopped, breathing hard, gasping for breath, trying to regain control of his heart and his breathing. It was an exercise he practiced every day in the family yards. Training to fight monsters and demons and vampires. Werebeasts. It was in his blood, in his bloodline, something he started training for as a child. He trained alongside his father, other family members...

His mother.

_Run._

He sank to the ground, his forehead pressed to the soil, before remembering to listen, listen to hear if he was being followed, if anything unnatural was nearby. After listening to silence for some time, he pulled the tunic, with the Belmont Crest on the breast, on over the one is was already wearing, strapped the weapons on properly, he wrapped himself up in the fur trimmed

_his grandfather's_

cloak, pulled his knees to his chest and cried himself to sleep. 

It was the last time he would ever cry. He promised himself. The last time! And it was the last time he would allow himself to love a fucking, lying woman.

Oh so he thought. 

Because right this minute, a beautiful, fully blossomed woman sat curled beside him, her head on his shoulder, her breath blowing on his neck, one teeny tiny cold hand tucked up under the back of his tunic, fingers splayed across his spine, and the other teeny tiny cold, oh so very cold, hand tucked between his thighs, so very, very, very close to his very even more needy prick. 

And she smelled wonderful! 

She brought back memories, memories he'd buried: good ones and bad ones. He had refused to think of even good memories for years, because they always ushered in nightmares. Coming home he was now inundated with the sounds in the hallways, the sounds and the smells – he was now remembering smells – from the kitchen. Meat, slow roasted. As he thought back now, every meal was a feast he took for granted. Ghosts of smell and sounds and people still roamed the halls. The memory of clean sheets, warm clothes, food, 

Baths. 

A bath. He wish he could take one right now because another memory Sypha brought back was the memory of a lush, warm naked not-quite woman, wrapped around him, answering his teenaged body with her own. It was an awkward coupling, one that lacked finesse, but it the first time for both. No one to compare to. Just each other. 

He remembered laughter, joy in each other, in The House. No one was ever lonely in This House. He remembered and he told her so.  
 _  
Stupid._

“I'm not sad,” he muttered.

She snuggled in closer, her breath cool on his body. Her hand on his back patted. 

“Yes, you are and yes, it is your blanket that's stinky!”

His shoulders rose as he looked down at her. Her eyes glittered up at him in the single candlelight. He suddenly remembered what his father told him, days before he lay with Rosa. _You are a Belmont. Belmonts are bold. Be brave. Be bold._ He clenched his thighs together, trapping that so cold little hand, willing it to warm up. “I thought you were asleep.” 

She smiled. It wasn't a smile for Alucard, it was for him, Him! Quickly, she raised up, straddling him, cradling that rock-hard erection, and brought the cloak and dusty blanket around both, hiding them from the eyes in the portraits and the glow of the single candle. Her fingertips grazed the scar on his face. “What beast gave you this?” 

Trevor shrugged. “It's not an exciting story. Not what you would imagine.” He lifted up, rubbed against her. She had to know what she was doing to him.

“Try me.” He stared at her. She was still smiling; he didn't think she could smile at all, but here she was, straddling a hard on and caressing his face. “I imagine you were very brave.” Again, she stroked the side of his face, the heat of magic invading the aged wound.

He started to make something up, stories he'd told before; a beast who got too close, a wolf that snuck up on him while he slept in the woods, an angry innkeeper who caught him in bed with his winsome, very experienced daughter...or wife...

“I didn't guard myself well in a practice fight when I was twelve,” he blurted. “My best friend gave it to me.” He smiled comically. “Thank God, it was wooden swords, not real knives!” 

This was true. He didn't tell her that his best friend was a girl, the steward's daughter. And that both of them had cried at the sight of blood pouring from his face. 

She was also his first kiss. They were five and they wanted to know what all the fuss was about. They decided it was not worthy of any fuss at all! But even the kiss part didn't need to be told because a gentleman didn't kiss and tell. Not that he was a gentleman. Not a bit. 

Sypha lowered her hands to his tunic and shoved them under to to clasp the skin at his waist. “You are warm.” 

“God,” he gasped. “Your hands are cold!” 

She laughed. “I know! They are always cold.” She scooted up against him, grinding really, to get closer and laid her head on his chest. “But you are warm. No. You are hot!” 

He wanted so bad. Needed. Clasping that ratty old blanket, he wrapped it around both of them. “Sypha? What do you really want?” 

She jerked her head up, mischief in her eyes, but the tone of her voice, deadly serious. “I want to know what it would be like to kiss you.” 

“Sypha-”

Her fingers raised up to lightly trace his lips. “I want to know.” 

His voice dropped to a raspy hiss. “Do you have any idea what you are asking of me?” 

She nodded. “Yes, I do. There is a fire in you, that hasn't been stoked in years.” 

“You're poking at it.” 

“You're poking at me!” she laughed back. 

“Sypha,” it was a hoarse, pained whisper. “Don't start what you won't finish.” 

Those icy fingers danced up his spine, causing sparks. She raised up on her knees, so she looked him in the eyes. “I would not be so cruel. You have been alone for far too long. Alucard,” she nodded upwards, “revels in his loneliness. He is dark to the depths of his feet. You,” she removed a hand and poked him in the chest, “have banked your fire well, but it's there.” Her thumb stroked his bottom lip.

“I will not play second to Alucard,” Trevor hissed. A hint of anger lay beneath his tone. Just the mere thought she preferred the vampyre to him...

“I do not want him,” she retorted. It wasn't in a joking manner, but one of utter seriousness. In an odd way, it reassured Trevor. “I have never wanted him.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I want you.” Her fingers now danced along the line of his upper lip.

Trevor sucked the tip of her digits in and nibbled on them, reveling in the taste and the electrical current that tingled under the pads, which caused her to gasp. “Don't start something you have no intention of finishing!” He took a breath, his eyes, glittering like glass. “Do not tease me.”

“I do not tease. I will finish this.” She leaned forward and brushed her lips across his.

In an instant, she felt herself rise, the old sheet falling backward. With one hand, he whipped off his cloak, throwing it to the floor, his body accompanied her onto it. His mouth followed, finding hers, inhaling. For a short time, it was a battle, a battle of tongues, a battle of heat. She tasted of honey, sweet things he'd honestly forgotten about. He turned her mouth loose, desiring, needing to taste, taste all of her, every salty, seed of sweat. There was a droplet where her earlobe met her neck and he feasted on that tasty bit of flesh. He wasn't aware of her intake of breath, simply mindful that she curled into him, closer. In that split second, he knew she needed... no... wanted and craved him as much as he desired her. 

Sypha was tugging at his tunic, pulling it up and over his head, the cool air caressing his skin. Her clothing was not as easy as his to remove, but somehow, they managed. Within moments, she lay bare to his eyes. Tiny. Petite.

She reached up to touch him, her hands grazing his chest. Her eyes were wide...

“Your clothes don't lie.” Her icy fingertips stroked lightly across his shoulders, her touch, glorying in the width and broadness of his back. “Why do you hide such beauty?” She lightly traced the scars on his body, the claw marks. Again, the tingle of magic thrilled on his skin. “What did this to you? Do not lie.” 

For a moment, his jaw bounced. “Don't we have better things to... discuss?” He cupped a breast, the callus of his thumb, brushing the nipple.

Wide blue eyes searched his. The nipple reacted in pleasure. “You're right. We will discuss this later.”

The thought skittered through the back of his mind. _Later?_ But the thought didn't linger, because beneath his hands were two beautiful breasts, and he didn't wish to waste a moment talking about other things.

Actually, he didn't want to talk, period. 

He leaned down, taking one in his mouth. Again, she arched into him, raising up. Her fingers wove through the long, unkempt locks of his hair, pulling him down, closer into her. Her knees rose, legs doing their best to wrap around him. 

He could smell her, smell her desire, and it fueled him. Since Rosa, past couplings had been fast, furious, his need leading the way. Rarely did he take time to look after his partner, hardly ever, there was no time, simply the urge for a release. 

_Wasted,_ his mind roared. _Wasted time, don't waste this one!_

He was between her legs, legs over his shoulders, spreading... no unfolding her before she realized his intent. He inhaled, savoring that unique, feminine scent, before latching on her inner petals, devouring her, as she gasped “Dumnezeule!”

His head rose up, just as his right arm slid around her leg, holding her open, a long finger teasing where his mouth had just been and two, long fingers from his left hand slid into her heat. “I thought you didn't believe.” 

She smacked him on the head. “Nu te opri! Don't stop!” 

The fingers embedded within her found a knot, among other things. As he began to stroke, he replaced his other hand with his mouth, surrounding her. 

_Gotta make this good, Belmont... she'll love you forever..._

For some reason, he wanted that, wanted _that_ affection, _that_ comfort, he'd been missing, had denied himself, for years. That need, that desire, he lost in Rosa's family barn... things he'd pushed aside, buried under his heart and soul came bursting back to the forefront of his very being. For the first time since Rosa, he cared about his partner, cared about her own needs above his, cared that she got something out of it. Again, he stroked her fire, devoured her, surrounded her heat with his mouth. He reached down and pushed down the rest of his clothing. He was unaware she'd buried her fingers in his hair, clutching the roots, guiding him, his mouth...

_Waiting... waiting...patience..._

Finally, she inhaled, began to keen, her body rising.

And with that, he lifted himself, throwing her legs over his elbows, covered her mouth with his, and with one thrust, buried himself into her body to his very base.

He inhaled her gasp with his own. The very feel of her was if he was bathed in her very glory. He reforged the rhythm he started earlier, bringing her back to the peak. She buried her mouth in his neck, finding his Adam's apple and breathing into it. As he had done to her previously, she found droplets of sweat, moisture on his neck and lapped them up, bringing him to the precipice that he struggled not to fall over. _Not yet._ So he struggled to wait for it, wait for her to whimper into him, cry out in the very night, her release, before allowing himself to join her.

For a short time, he listened to the dull thud in his ears. A duet of thuds. His heartbeat and hers. 

“You're squishing me.” 

“Oh, sorry, right.” Trevor rolled and she followed, snuggling into his side. It was quiet for a moment. “Why didn't you tell me.”

“Tell you what?” 

“That you'd never... that it was your first time?” 

Her eyes glittered in the low glow of the candlelight above him. “Would you have stopped?” 

Honestly, he didn't think he could have stopped. “I would have been a bit more gentle.” That made her chuckle. “Your first time should have been in a bed with clean linens and-”

Her hand went over his mouth. “The beds upstairs are home to mice and rats and bugs I wouldn't want to share with. The sofas and chairs down here are narrow and dusty-”

“You planned this!” It was a snort. He pulled on the old blanket and proceeded to cover them with it.

Sypha buried her head on his shoulder. “Not really. We will have time for a bed later.” His heart leaped at her declaration of intent. Her hand began to trace the claw mark scar on his chest, one left by a werebeast, some years back. “Do you have regrets about this? Us?” 

“No.” 

She smiled against him, her fingertips continuing their sparkling path across his many scars. “Good, because I don't either! After this,” she nodded upwards, indicating the war brewing above them in the forest, “is over, I want to do it again. I want more for us.” Warmth sparked from her fingers, before they turned cold again. As she snuggled down in sleep and he himself began to drift off, he remembered – she wanted to discuss old injuries later. She wanted to do this again. In a bed. She wanted the two of them. Later. Later meant more. More meant she cared. 

Caring meant neither one would be lonely anymore. Not in This House. 

**__**

~~~...~~~

High above, soaring stories and flights, Alucard looked down, his vampyre eyes and ears seeing and hearing more than the meager candle from the bottom of the library allowed. Saw more and heard more than he wished, more than they would wish, had they known. He turned with a disgusted sigh as the two cuddled up.

Trying to convince himself that he didn't desire either one of them after all. 

_****_

lamps will call, call me home

_Start 4/14/2020_  
 _fini – 04/20/2020_

_Sypha speaks Romanian._   
_  
Dumnezeule – Dear God!_

_Nu te opri – Don't stop_


End file.
